Just like baby poo

Hell has officially frozen over.
Barney was on in my house today. Yes, that's right. I, the official president of the "I Hate Barney Club," officially crossed over into The Motherhood today. I don't know how it happened; it just did.
Buttercup was having her routine butt-soak in the turkey roaster and I needed something kiddie on to keep her occupied. So I turned on the television and searched until I found PBS kids.
We watched a bit of the too-PC Sesame Street (Cookie Monster was eating veggies and Cheerios, for Pete's sake!), and then, even though I had the remote within reach, Barney came on and I didn't change the channel.
And (shock!) I liked it.
Maybe it's like baby poo. Being in the same vicinity as a baby's diaper being changed before you have your own kids is akin to watching someone else vomit. It's gross, stinky, and you would rather be anywhere else.
Then you have your own kids and suddenly, baby poo is no longer disgusting. Instead, it is the topic of the day. It even smells less disgusting then it used to.
Why? Because the poo now belongs to your child, of course.
Which brings me back to Barney. Before kids, "I love you, you love me..." made me want to beat my head into a wall. Now, I want to sing it to Buttercup.
(Shhh! Don't tell anyone I know!
What's next? Teletubbies?